18th April 1310, Fontainebleau Palace
Philip stared out of the window of his lavish rooms at Fontainebleau and into the gloom of the afternoon that looked likely to develop into a heavy rain storm. He gripped the empty goblet of wine that was in his hand tightly, as if trying to suppress the rage that boiled up inside him. De Nogaret stood silent as a church mouse and waited for the King to throw it at him but he did not, instead he sighed and said:
“All escaped then, not a trace of any of them except for the masters and those who were slain?”
“That is what I have learned.” De Nogaret said gravely. “One of De Floyran’s surviving men gave me a detailed account of events in exchange for enough funds to secure his future.”
“They have all abandoned me then?” Philip asked sounding surprised. “And De Floyran?” He turned as if he genuinely hoped the treacherous Templar survived. De Nogaret frowned.
“I am still waiting to hear from him. All I have heard is rumour; some say that De Massard killed him, others that he escaped during the fray. He is wily, and I am sure that the latter is the case.”
Despite his conviction, De Nogaret was very concerned. De Floyran had either simply disappeared, wishing to avoid the wrath of Philip or he had indeed been killed, and where did that leave him?
“I imagine the surviving traitorous Templars were not keen to risk the possibility of your wrath and being leaderless in De Floyran’s absence they have dispersed.”
The King shook his head but seemed to digest the information with an unusually calm acceptance. De Nogaret had prepared Philip for what was to be the disastrous news to come when he had arrived several days ago on De Floyran’s instruction.
De Nogaret was sure that De Floyran wasn’t foolish enough to get himself killed and he had been right when he predicted that De Molay and the other members of the Templar hierarchy would choose to remain and meet the fate of their Order. However, it was vexing to De Nogaret that De Floyran had not come to Fontainebleau like he had said he would.
Germain Otricourt had told De Nogaret what had occurred at Chinon, but he had fled during the mêlée. He was not at Gisors and so was unsure of the fate of De Floyran. However, he had been able to inform De Nogaret that Boltolf and Armin had been killed, De Massard had escaped with his mission accomplished and De Floyran and Caradas were missing. Perhaps Esquin would return when the dust had settled. He owed him the gift but De Nogaret had a sinking feeling that as De Molay had said, De Floyran never intended to mark him.
The news that De Nogaret had just reported to the King was that all Templars incarcerated at Chinon, the Paris Temple and Gisors had now escaped. Philip had been surprised that the vicious Templar werewolves had not laid siege to Paris or at least killed all who were unfortunate enough to cross their paths. In fact, very few had been killed at all. The largest group of casualties were at Chinon and these had all been De Floyran’s traitorous men, whom some may have thought got their just desserts as they had turned against their own race and attempted to thwart the rescue of their kind.
Philip had been furious at first upon hearing that the escape was imminent but when he heard that one of De Floyran’s own men had turned against him, he realised that there was no-one but Caradas who truly deserved his wrath and who could really be surprised at the treachery of a traitor? De Nogaret had painstakingly explained to Philip that he was still the victor in all of this and that now this monstrous escape had occurred he could push the Pope to dissolve the Order and have done with the affair. Philip was no fool and understood well that upon revelation of this news, Clement would be keen to wash his hands of the matter.
“At least we still have the masters.” De Nogaret offered optimistically.
“’Tis something,” Philip agreed.
“And the Order is disbanded. Dissolution of it by decree of the Pope is merely for ceremony. They are scattered, in hiding, they have no power anymore.”
Philip turned and eyed De Nogaret gravely, “I don’t think I like the idea of them in hiding. I wanted all, but a few loyal to me, burned!”
“De Floyran saw to the deaths of many.” De Nogaret reminded him.
“I hoped to see a few relapsed burned here in Paris! It would be a grave warning to any other would-be heretical groups to mend their ways and remember their place. I wanted to make clear that no one is above the monarch and even a group as powerful as the Templars could find themselves put to the stake.”
“There is nothing to stop you from still making that example.” De Nogaret said suggestively.
“How do you mean?” the King looked at him through suspicious and narrowed eyes.
“There are many of your men both from Chinon and Gisors who perhaps saw too much. It is difficult to stop so many tongues from wagging and the less who are informed on this matter as a whole, the better. The Pope and the public need not know that they are not relapsed Templar heretics.”
“How many men are there?” the King asked.
“About fifty, give or take.” De Nogaret replied.
“Excellent!” Philip said. “We should keep all this business from the Pope’s ears until after we have had our fire. Then we can inform him of the escape and press him for the dissolution of the Order.”
“Absolutely.” De Nogaret smiled and the King nodded with a spark of cruel delight evident in his eyes. He would have his bonfire; he could still send his message.
13th May 1310, Avignon
Clement coughed several times and grabbed desperately at the cup of water that was offered to him. When he got his breath back and soothed his throat he looked at Michael with a mixture of surprise and strange delight upon his face.
“You are sure?” he asked, still finding it hard to believe.
“It is what it says in De Nogaret’s letter. It sounds like it was a most heroic affair,” Michael said excitedly, though he was sure that the King and De Nogaret did not view it as such, “and one that was led by the very Templar that we saw in the pit at Montlhéry, Galeren de Massard, the Grand Master’s son.”
Clement nodded remembering the hapless knight trapped in the oubliette with his lover. Tortured and tormented, he had still managed to escape and save his brethren, but not just once it seemed; he had returned to France for a second time to complete his ambitious objective. A pity that he was a werewolf, his valiant deeds would go unrecorded in the vials of history, but Clement was sure that it was not a concern of the young knight’s.
“It was Raymond Caradas who was responsible for the turn of the tide.” Michael continued, taking delight in recounting the details of De Nogaret’s sober letter to the Pope, though he did not fully know why that was. This was supposed to be catastrophic news for them and yet it did not feel that way.
Clement shook his head as if confused. “You said all the werewolves escaped.”
Michael nodded fervently. “Then who did Philippe de Marigny have burned at the stake yesterday?” Clement asked.
“It was the King’s own men. Fifty four of them, all dressed as Templars. They were survivors of the château sieges and were deemed to have seen what they should not. De Nogaret explained in his letter that it was meant to be a warning to any who might think themselves above the King’s authority.” Michael raised his eyebrows at the Pope.
“Including me I suppose!” the Pope spat. “The cruel, pitiless bastard!” he cursed and then crossed himself several times when he caught sight of Michael’s shocked expression. “Well, he is. They should not have acted without my knowledge or authority! This whole thing has been a travesty from start to finish. One man’s selfish and diabolical ambition and as always the innocent have suffered.”
“What will you do about the masters?” Michael asked.
“Only what I can. Though I am sure Philip will be hell bent on putting them to the stake, seeing as he has lost all his Templar prisoners and has resorted to burning his own men in their stead. He is petty and vindictive. We still have to wait for the commissions to reach their decisions and t
hen I suppose that Philip will press for the Order’s dissolution. No matter what the final judgement of the commissions, the Order of the Temple is over. Dissolving it can do no harm to them now, except in tainting their exemplary two hundred year service to Christendom.”
“You are pleased, aren’t you?” Michael asked boldly.
“Pleased?” Clement frowned.
“That they escaped.”
Clement smiled and then nodded, “Yes I am. In fact no better news could have reached my ears this morning after yesterday’s wicked event, except of course the coming of our Lord Saviour, Jesus Christ.”
19th May 1310, Château de Gisors
De Nogaret tossed and turned in his sleep, his dreams were nightmares. He dreamed he was fallen, fallen from grace. Philip had no further use for him and had sent him to Gisors to keep watch over what was left of the imprisoned Templars, the four remaining dignitaries. His presence at court was no longer required. He was grim, a cripple, pale and weak. His nose broken and healed was now a grotesque lump on his bleak and bitter face. Philip did not wish to suffer his pathetic countenance day after day and preferred to surround himself with handsome, witty and amiable advisors.
De Plaisians and De Marigny remained at Philip’s side, enjoying hunting and all the variety of entertainment that came with being at court as they waited like vultures to pick over the findings of the diocesan and papal commissions. The Pope had criticised the secular arm, the King and De Marigny, for the burning of the fifty four so-called Templars on the twelfth of May, but made no more about it. De Nogaret suspected that the Pope was secretly pleased that the werewolf knights had escaped.
So as the days passed away at Gisors, he searched for news of De Floyran. He had heard that Galeren had killed him, though his body had never been found. De Nogaret was loath to believe it. However, he realised that even if it were untrue, in one way or another, his former friend had deserted him and left him with nothing but hatred and bitterness to eat away at his soul.
He had not dared visit De Molay, for he did not wish to suffer the Grand Master’s scorn or his smugness when he witnessed his wretched state. His headaches worsened, they were daily, drilling into his brain until he cried out in desperation for relief. He locked himself away in his darkened room and tried to forget his suffering. Leeches and philtres did nothing to ease the pain and so he became a ghost-like shell of his former self, wondering the halls and passageways of Gisors, alone and despised, with all hope of attaining what he had so long desired lost in the void of his cruel nature.
De Nogaret awoke sweat lacquered and fear shaken. He remembered when he had woken once to find De Floyran sat in his chambers. The dark knight had asked him what he feared the most and De Nogaret realised that he was now living that very fear. His nightmares were his reality. He felt a chill enter his soul as he realised that someone was once again in the room with him. It was Déjà vu. He squinted in the darkness and saw gleaming eyes staring back at him. De Floyran? Could it be? The eyes were just as cold but they were not the distinctive green of De Floyran’s.
“Who is there?” De Nogaret called out weakly, hoping that this was just another waking dream in which he was haunted by a silent monster whose intent he did not know.
“Who were you hoping for?” the familiar voice said. De Nogaret’s heart sank as he recognised the voice of a betrayer.
“Caradas!” he screamed with vehement disgust in his voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come to pay a visit to an old comrade and confirm some news.”
“What news?” De Nogaret said, knowing in his heart that it was news that concerned De Floyran.
“News I am sure you long to hear, perhaps it will put you out of your pathetic misery. It is pointless hanging onto hope, I expect you need some closure.” Caradas said provocatively.
“What news?” De Nogaret demanded impatiently.
Raymond Caradas slowly stood up and walked toward the edge of De Nogaret’s bed. De Nogaret shivered involuntarily as the werewolf approached certain that this was not just a courtesy call.
“De Floyran is dead. Galeren de Massard tore out his throat.” Caradas said.
De Nogaret felt a pain surge through his whole being and even though he could tell himself that De Floyran had not betrayed his trust or broken his promise, the sheer disappointment of knowing that his hopes of becoming a powerful creature of the supernatural lay in tatters was devastating. It was the finality of it. He breathed in and cradled his head with his hands.
“No! His body has not been found. He escaped; he is just biding his time.” De Nogaret said desperately.
“I am afraid you hang on to false hope.” Caradas said. “His body has not been found because I buried it. It was the least I could do for my old friend.”
“The least you could do?” De Nogaret screamed incredulously, “you dare to call him your friend after what you did? You served with him for years. You were brothers! He had De Massard in a dungeon, it was over! You betrayed us, you bastard!” De Nogaret screamed, shaking his fist at him in fury. “I don’t understand why? The prize was in our hands and you threw it away!”
“What prize?” Caradas screamed back at him.
“Reward, wealth, status!”
“I wanted that, I truly did but at what price? My heart changed on the day Esquin began to burn those of my race.”
“But you were happy to betray them! You saw those of your race tortured, dying from the agony of it. You were happy to oversee it and cared not that your brothers were rotting in putrid dungeons.”
“Yes, I was! I have caused suffering and have been the purveyor of cruelty for more years than I care to remember. I was angry at De Massard and the Temple for expelling us, but I did not truly comprehend the consequence of what we were doing. I did not want my kind annihilated! De Floyran went too far in his quest for revenge!”
“And you betrayed him! You murdered him!”
“It was not easy to betray him. But in the end he deserved what he got, and believe me his death was quicker and more merciful than those who met theirs at the stake. He had a fighting chance. The better man won is all.”
“And what about me? You know well what De Floyran promised me. I have lost what I desired because of you!”
“It was never to be, De Nogaret.” Caradas said assuredly. “Esquin used you for his own end. He used you to get his revenge on the Temple and secure lands and status with the King. The truth of it is, he despised you, ridiculed you. He never planned to mark you; he would never have given you such a gift.”
“Liar!” De Nogaret spat his hands curling into fists of rage. “You will say anything now to spite me you traitor. De Floyran understood me, he knew my heart. We were brothers!”
“You pathetic fool!” Caradas spat back. “Esquin cared for nothing in his life but himself. Even his most trusted men were expendable. You were merely convenient, he laughed at your misfortunes behind your back. At every turn he hated you and led you a merry dance so you would do his bidding and you did, like a needy hound vying for scraps from his master’s table. You, clever councillor, were played.”
“No, no, no, no!” De Nogaret screamed gnashing his teeth at his tormenter. He did not forget that it was Caradas who had broken his nose and left him hamfasted for hours while his mouth filled with blood and he almost choked on it. With his face twisted in tortured agony he lunged at Caradas, reaching out for him with gnarled face and hands. Caradas went to step back but delayed as the councillor stopped short, his face displaying a torment of a different kind.
De Nogaret clapped one of his twisted hands upon his chest and crying out in pain collapsed backwards onto the bed. Raymond changed and leapt onto the bed in wolf form and loomed over De Nogaret who was now gasping for breath and clawing at the neck of his linen night shirt.
“What did you come here for?” De Nogaret rasped weakly.
“To see you dead.” Raymond said, baring his teeth and shoving his muzzle again
st De Nogaret’s face. De Nogaret cried out and then gasped in a manner that Raymond mistook for fear, but when he drew back and looked at the councillor, he realised that it had been his dying breath.
De Nogaret’s face was frozen in a look of complete despair and misery, twisted and tormented with his tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth. The wolf waited for a while to make sure his quarry was dead and then satisfied that the councillor’s death had befitted his cruel nature, he disappeared into the night.
29th May 1310, Maryculter
“When do you leave?” Bertrand said.
“In the next few weeks,” Galeren replied, with an edge of excitement in his voice. The time had finally come to make the journey to the new world. It was several weeks since the siege at Gisors and those who had wanted to, had returned to Scotland without event. Others who had been freed from the Paris Temple had either journeyed themselves to Scotland with their rescuers or had chosen their own separate paths.
Galeren had kept his spirit intact for the journey but had collapsed with exhaustion and loss of blood as soon as they landed on English soil. He had been unconscious for the duration of the journey to Scotland. It had taken him two weeks of rest and recuperation before he was able, or allowed to leave his sick bed. Catherine had stayed at his side to tend to him and Parsifal had made his recovery in the sick bed beside him.
Since then, he had been passionately making plans for their voyage to the new world. Some two hundred former Templar Knights now wished to escape Europe and place their trust in a new leader and a new world. The old Viking maps from New Temple in London had long since been retrieved and they were eagerly preparing the ships for the voyage ahead. It was almost perfect but for the fact that Galeren could not forget that his father and the other masters remained in the dungeons at Gisors.
“It is an exciting venture for you all. You have thought of doing such for years Galeren, and you have time and again proven that when your mind is set on a quest you see it done with outstanding success.”
“I thank you humbly, but you need not bestow such accolades upon me.”
“Your days of modesty are long past, Galeren.” Bertrand chastised him gently.
“If my father stood at my side, I may bask in the glory that all are so quick to honour me with.” He said with an element of bitter regret crossing his face.
“De Molay’s decision was his alone, and he would not have pushed the others to choose his path. It is what they all wanted. You have to understand that.”
“I wish to understand it, but I know they will be murdered and their reputations besmirched by the French King and his minions. I sometimes wish to delay our voyage for the sake of seeing justice done Bertrand, only those who have put their faith in me are eager to sail soon. Perhaps Gerard can lead them, I cannot rest until –”
“I will see justice done Galeren.” Bertrand said and his eyes showed that he was deadly serious. “Your father was a good man, and dear friend to me. Whatever Jacques fate, Philip will pay for it.”
“I cannot ask you –” Galeren begun.
“You do not ask me.” Bertrand cut him off. “I am telling you what I will do. There is no reason for you to delay. Jacques wants you to go to your future, the past is for your elders and former masters to deal with and you have my word that it will be dealt with. I will send word of it.”
Galeren nodded and smiled. “Thank you Bertrand. I have every faith that you will see that the punishment fits the crime.”
“Think on it no more.” He said, nodding with certainly. “Whatever happened to Raymond Caradas?” Bertrand asked, changing the subject.
“I am not certain. He came with us to Gisors but he disappeared during the siege. After I came back from my business with De Floyran, I didn’t see him again. He just slipped away like the treacherous bastard he was.”
“Mmm, but without his help things may have turned out very differently.”
“Perhaps,” Galeren said vaguely.
“You cannot really blame him for slipping away; he would never have been accepted amongst us. He may have been thanked but never trusted.”
“I suppose and it was for the best. I knew too much about his past misdeeds to tolerate him in our midst.”
“Yes,” Bertrand said thoughtfully. “I heard that De Nogaret met his maker quite recently.”
“Really?” Galeren said, sounding surprised.
“Yes, I thought you should know.”
“What happened?”
“He was found in his bed in a most disturbing manner. He was stiff as a board when they found him and frozen in a grotesque form. His hands were gnarled as if he died in great agony, one gripping his chest and the other reaching out, as if at some perpetrator. His tongue was jutting from his mouth, as if he had been crying out in pain, or perhaps fear.”
“Good, it sounds like a good death for him, though I would have rather ripped his throat out myself.”
“The manner in which he was found has led some to believe that something distressed him greatly, perhaps he was frightened to death. I have heard that there were muddy footprints found on the sheet covering De Nogaret’s bed.
“Footprints?” Galeren said.
“Aye, of a large dog,” Bertrand raised his eyebrows suggestively, “or wolf.”
“And you think they may have been the footprints of Raymond Caradas?”
“I have my suspicions. Perhaps it was a final act of contrition before he disappeared for good.”
“Where do you get your information from?” Galeren asked surprised.
Bertrand tapped the side of his nose. “We may be in hiding but we are still watching.”
Galeren smiled, “I had better take my leave, there is still much to prepare and I have to be at the helm, or at least seen to be.” He laughed.
“Of course,” Bertrand chuckled, “I will be very sorry to see you leave and extremely happy at the same time.”
“Me too.” Galeren replied and nodding courteously he took leave of his former master.
Two years later . . .
Catherine stepped out of the cottage into the bright sunlight. She squinted and then sneezed several times. The sky was big and brilliant blue and the smell of spring was once again in the air. She shielded her eyes with her hand and looked down the street of the village and spied Galeren standing talking to a group of men, all of whom she knew well. She looked at her husband in his baggy breeches, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows and the mud and dirt caking his hands and forearms were evidence of his day’s labour.
She thought back to when she had first met him, stood proud and purposeful in his immaculate Templar attire, his icy blue eyes betraying his thoughts. He had come to tell her that her life would never be the same again and he had been right. That seemed like a life time ago and so much had passed since then. She looked at the little boy at his side with light brown curls dressed in an outfit that was similar to Galeren’s. He tugged on the bottom of Galeren’s shirt, trying to get his attention. Galeren smiled and crouched down, listening to what the boy had to say and then he looked over at Catherine and pointed at her. The little boy turned and looked and with a big smile on his face he waved. Galeren swept him up into his arms and began to walk towards her.
“Jacques!” she said, “what have I told you about running off without me?” she scolded gently.
“Papa!” he said chirpily. Galeren smiled and Catherine rolled her eyes.
“He is quite safe here. Everyone knows who he is and who he belongs to.” Galeren said lightly and then kissed her upon the lips.
“I know, but I hate turning around and finding him gone.”
“He’s never far.” Galeren said, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“Still, he is wilful.” She said firmly but with an adoring smile on her face.
“I wonder where he gets that from?” Galeren laughed and Catherine raised her eyebrows and retorted, “Yes, I wonder!” she put her hands on hips.
>
The clatter of hooves racing down the road distracted them and they turned to see Richard racing towards them, he brought his mare to an abrupt halt as he reached them.
“What is it?” Galeren said, noting the look of concern on Richard’s face. Richard looked at Catherine as if hesitant to speak in front of her but she gave him a glare that dared him to leave her out, so he relented.
“We have visitors.” He said.
“How many?” Galeren asked.
“A dozen or so. They are on the ridge. They haven’t moved. It is like they’ve been watching us.”
“Well, let’s go and meet them.” Galeren said and handed Jacques to Catherine.
“Can I come with you?” she said, her eyes full of curiosity.
“Not this time, you must stay here and look after our wilful son.” He gave her a wink.
“Could it be dangerous?” she asked, trepidation suddenly replacing the curiosity.
“I doubt it and there are only a dozen. If they have met Europeans before they will find us very different from the Vikings. Don’t worry.” He said and giving both her and Jacques a kiss he went to get his horse.
Catherine watched him leave with a little concern etched on her face. They had not yet encountered the peoples of this new world, the Skraelings as the Vikings had called them and by their accounts they had not shared peaceful relations with them. Still, Galeren was right, they were very different from the Vikings and up until now everything here had gone so well. She was certain that there was nothing to worry about.
“Papa will be home soon.” Catherine said to her son as they both waved to Galeren and the men that rode out to meet their visitors. With a good feeling in her heart she turned and headed back into the cottage.
“Strange looking bunch,” Richard observed, as they approached the bottom of the ridge. Galeren shook his head and said, “They are probably saying the same about us.”
“What are they waiting for?” he grumbled.
“They are probably being cautious. If they have encountered men from our shores before, they may think we are hostile. If not, then they may still think we could be dangerous. What do you suggest, that we go charging towards them?”
“No!” Richard snapped, “I just want to get on with it, let them know we are no threat so we can all get on with our lives. We have left trouble behind us. I am not looking for any more.”
Galeren looked at Richard with amazement and delight on his face. “Listen to you!” he laughed. “I thought you were happiest with a sword in your hand. My oh my, how you’ve become the farmer!”
“’Tis all that home cooked food he gets from Ivette, it has made him fat and content!” Parsifal jibed.
“Watch it lad,” Richard warned, as his face reddened with embarrassment, “I am still handy with a blade and will be happy to show you just how so if you continue in this vein!”
Galeren winked at Parsifal. It was easy to rile Richard about his novel status. He was newly-wed and was getting fat with contentment.
“Look!” Gerard said, pointing to the ridge. Two of the strangers had broken away from the main group and were slowly heading down it towards them. Galeren’s own group of men, who had ridden out to meet the curious visitors, consisted of the nine who had originally gone to Chinon. However, Galeren was not concerned for their safety, he was instead certain that things would go very well.
“Keep calm. I am sure they just want to know what we are about. We may have a lot to teach each other, there is no reason why we cannot have a fruitful and amicable alliance with them.”
The nine stared with fascination as the two strangers approached. They wore breeches that looked to be made of leather, were naked to the waist and had dark skin which was decorated with various patterns and colours, even their horses had painted symbols upon them. Both of the men’s hair was long and black and sections of it were plaited. Their faces also bore markings.
Galeren dismounted as they got closer and walked away from the others in a show of leadership. He nodded as they approached him and looked up at the men who seemed to study him with a mixture of both disbelief and confusion deep set on their faces. They looked at each other and exchanged a few words in a strange dialect. One of the men, who appeared older and was more heavily painted than the other, seemed to become agitated and his voice began to become raised in volume.
He turned and looked at Galeren again and shouted something at him. Galeren shook his head to show that he obviously didn’t understand and the man reined his horse away and began to ride rapidly back up the ridge towards the others shouting something to them as he went. The other man merely dismounted and stood quietly by his horse as if waiting for further instruction.
“What’s going on?” Richard asked anxiously.
“I don’t know.” Galeren shouted back at him and although he was baffled by the other man’s behaviour he did not sense anything was wrong . . . yet. They all watched as the man reached the others and began pointing and waving his hands in their direction. Suddenly they all began to ride down the ridge towards them.
“Fuck!” Richard said.
“Just keep calm.” Galeren shouted behind him. “We don’t want to ruin this. Don’t do anything unless I instruct you to, is that understood?”
They agreed and Galeren distanced himself further from them, walking toward the group of men that were now racing towards him on horseback. Three immediately swung out of their saddles as they drew rein and strode purposefully towards Galeren. He stood his ground looking for any potential weapons they carried but all he could see were axes strapped at their waists. As they neared, however, relief and joy suddenly filled Galeren’s heart.
“It’s alright!” Galeren cried over his shoulder to the others.
One of the men, who wore an impressive crown of feathers upon his head, stepped forward and came right up to Galeren. He bowed his head in a mark of respect as he spoke to him in his native tongue. Galeren smiled at him and in turn bowed his own head and then the man repeated what he’d said, but this time to Galeren’s mind.
“What did he say?” Parsifal called out, desperate to know what was going on. Galeren turned and smiled at them as if he’d known all along.
“The wolf is our brother.” He replied.
Epilogue
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 63